


The Night only Punished

by singularly_obsessed (orphan_account)



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Slash, but - Freeform, i found this in the depths of my blog, i kind of want to go further but, season three does not exist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/singularly_obsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t touch me.” His voice was raw; he’d never hated himself more. “Don’t <em>touch</em> me, I’m disgusting, I–”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night only Punished

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently this is eight months old but do I remember writing it? Not really, but okay.

Sherlock’s nightmares were vicious. In the light of day his mind sided with him: he had done what he’d need to, nothing more, and certainly had taken no pleasure from it. But the night did not care. The night only punished.

John had asked him one morning, holding on to Sherlock’s tea even as Sherlock tugged pointedly, if there was anything he could do. It’d been four days since his last 'good' night, and he had been tempted. _God,_ his body had nearly said, _please, yes, anything._ But Sherlock caught up with it, his jaw snapping closed, his eyes turning away with a quiet _no._ John had watched him a moment longer, but hadn’t pushed, let him be without a word.

That had been two days ago.

Sherlock knew his screams were loud enough to wake the neighbors, but John didn’t flinch. Sherlock heard the floorboards creak as John stepped forward, curled himself tighter as the bed dipped. He knew what was coming.

“Don’t touch me.” His voice was raw; he’d never hated himself more. “Don’t touch me, I’m disgusting, I–”

Pressure on his chest, over his heart. John’s hand, his arm a brand across his ribs, trying to pull him around. But Sherlock couldn't face him, not now.

“No,” John murmured, shifting until his hip pressed up against Sherlock’s spine. _How could he stand--?_ His fingers stroked gently, soothing Sherlock's prickling skin. “No you’re not.”

**Author's Note:**

> My heart wants to write further, but my mind says this is a powerful ending, more words would just dilute it. Thoughts?


End file.
